


Dee's Lament

by prophetkristy



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: 4.07 "Guess What's Coming To Dinner?", Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophetkristy/pseuds/prophetkristy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know that it's possible to cry so hard that you throw up?  (during/post-"Guess What's Coming to Dinner?")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dee's Lament

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Gaeta Squee](http://gaeta-squee.livejournal.com/214858.html).

Did you know that it's possible to cry so hard that you throw up?

I didn't before now, but crouching here in the head with one temple pressed against the coolness of the metal stall, breathing carefully through my mouth to calm my roiling stomach, I guess I'm not all that surprised.

I really think I prefer the two separate. Throwing up after Ishay told me quietly, in the corridor outside Sickbay, that Felix hadn't wanted to be anaesthetized during the amputation, hadn't wanted to wake up with his leg gone (I almost didn't make it to the head). Crying, well, pretty much anytime I think about him—I've been able (barely) to keep it together on duty in the CIC, but every time I start toward Sickbay, I just lose it.

My stomach's calming down now—not that I'm in a hurry to visit the mess for, oh, a year or so—but I don't know of any remedy for this cold, aching knot in my chest or the tears running down my face. It's actually starting to piss me off. I'm not usually a cryer. And I want to see Felix—Gods, how I want to see him—but the last thing he needs right now is for me to be a sobbing, snotty wreck all over him. I want to take his mind off things, make him laugh by telling him about the latest antics of the Cult of Baltar and Tigh's more-than-usually-unusual behavior.

I almost made it this time, by concentrating on the image of a sunny Caprican beach so hard that I was practically meditating. But then I moved around one of the curtained cubicles in Sickbay, with the beeping of a heart monitor drowning out the seabirds in my mind, and saw only part of him, one leg bare, the other ending below the knee and thickly wrapped in white bandages—

Oh, Gods, here it comes again—


End file.
